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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23919508">Forever and Always</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst'>winter_angst</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha!Jack, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Branding, Collars, Enthusiastic Consent, M/M, Omega!Brock, Scarification, Traditions</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:35:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,002</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23919508</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The long awaited day has arrived but Brock has some fears and needs reassurance before they can continue.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Forever and Always</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts">Kalika999 (kalika_999)</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Well, Kali and I happened to see a scene in a tv show where a brand was shown and...one thing led to another. </p><p>Please see the tags.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Brock drew in a deep breath. On the stove sat freshly fried eggs, sunny side up, and a hearty portion of sizzling bacon. He set aside Jack’s plate and looked at the calendar. Today was circled in red marker with a single letter that filled Brock’s stomach with lead even though his heart swelled with anticipation. </p><p>“Hey, you’re up early. Smells great.” Two arms wrapped around him and Brock let himself be pulled into the firm embrace of his Alpha. Jack’s morning scent was always comforting, warm and sleepy with a whiff of Brock mixed in because they had slept pressed together. “And the food smells good too.”</p><p>“Ha ha,” even with his nervousness he managed to snort and sardonically remark, “That joke never gets old.”</p><p>“Nope,” Jack kissed his neck, just above the leather band buckled around his throat. “You’re nervous.”</p><p>“No,” Brock protested despite the fact that he could smell his nervousness as it cut through the pleasant pheromones of Jack. “Maybe a little bit.”</p><p>“You were nervous about wearing this for the first time,” Jack’s fingers came up to stroke the strip of leather, made right here by his Alpha’s own hand. </p><p>“Well putting on a collar is a little bit simpler than being branded.” Brock was trying to come off casual but his voice trembled.</p><p>Jack crooned low in his chest, trying to soothe Brock to the best of his abilities. Brock did his best to remain rational. He’d known what he was getting into when he met Jack. Traditions differed in different countries and this wasn’t Italy where Alphas and omegas expressed their bond through metal rings around their fingers. This was more feral, more historically traditional and that appealed to Brock. Despite his apprehension he grew to like the feeling of the leather around his neck, no longer feeling like he needed to hide when he went into public.</p><p>He wore it with pride, exactly as intended. It wasn’t ownership, not in the way of inequality at least. It was something inherently deeper, more intimate. And to be branded was a long honored tradition, especially in the farmlands. </p><p>“You don’t have to do this today.” Jack carefully turned Brock to face him but the omega tipped his head purposely downward. Jack was still shirtless but he had his well worn Wranglers on. “This isn’t supposed to scare you.”</p><p>“It doesn’t.” Brock met Jack’s concerned gaze head on. “It doesn’t scare me. Just...the actual process of it…”</p><p>Jack made a quiet noise of agreement, running his hands up and down Brock’s arms. His warm, calloused palms felt right against his skin and Brock needed to be close to him. Once upon a time he would have scoffed at the idea of being one of those omegas. The ones that hung onto their Alpha like they couldn’t stand on their own. Now Brock understood them; it wasn’t a matter of not being independent, it was knowing that they didn’t have to shoulder everything themselves. </p><p>Brock rubbed his cheek against Jack’s chest, the scruffy hair was a bit abrasive but it was soothing. The low croon that bubbled deep in Jack’s chest managed to entice a quiet purr of his own. His pulse slowed, the bitter worry faded and his usual scent (sandalwood, rose water, and morning dew according to Jack) filled both their noses. It mingled well with Jack’s relaxed scent: pine, citrus, and freshly cut grass.</p><p>“I don’t want to pressure you,” Jack said as they separated. </p><p>Brock felt calmer, much more rational and significantly less emotional but his opinion hadn’t changed in the slightest. He had complete control and he knew it. Brock had picked every date. The date he would wear the collar with JR stamped onto it and the day he would bear Jack’s mark forever. </p><p>“I’m not some little omega you can push around,” Brock reminded him dryly. “You aren’t gonna make me do anything.”</p><p>Jack smiled, running his thumb along his jaw. “And that’s why I love you so much.”</p><p>“Oh please, this ass is what got your attention.” Brock turned around, giving a small sway of his hips for emphasis. </p><p>He could feel Jack’s hungry gaze on his backside as he served them both breakfast before it went completely cold. “Coffee?” Jack stepped to the pot Brock had brewed this morning to keep his hands busy.</p><p>“Nah, don’t need to be anymore on edge.” Brock offered a smile but he knew it didn’t hide his worry completely. </p><p>Jack poured himself a mug and got Brock a cup of orange juice. Breakfast was quiet, Jack extending a thank you for cooking and the click of silverware against their plates. Brock found himself chewing each bite slowly, eyed straying to the clock. </p><p>As they cleared away the dishes Jack caught his eye again. “Are you sure?”</p><p>“Yes Jack.” Brock nodded his head firmly. “I’m positive.”</p><p>Jack subjected him to a long searching look, eyes roaming his face for a flicker of doubt. His Alpha was always fiercely caring so it was no surprise he was adamant that Brock had no insecurities on the matter. Finding none, Jack frowned a bit making the scar that ran from his lip to his chin, deepen. </p><p>“We’ll wait,” Jack decided and Brock immediately began to protest but Jack spoke firmly over him. “Until after lunch, Brock. Just to give you more time to really think it through.”</p><p>Brock nodded his head, mostly just to appease Jack. He was well aware of how he got, especially when it came to something as serious as his omega’s well-being. That was why Brock had no apprehension when it came to wearing his Alpha’s mark. He felt lucky to, in fact. The thing that was afraid of was the pain. And it was harder to admit than it sounded. </p><p>Day to day chores to keep the Rollins farm running were a welcome distraction. The late May sun was warm against Brock’s neck, tanning the olive skin even darker as he slipped into the sheep pen. They crowded around him instantly, bleating eagerly. Brock often brought them vegetable scraps so they were quite spoiled.</p><p>Brock poured the left over water from last night from the trough and refilled it with fresh cool water. Half of the sheep ambled away in disappointment because there were no treats, and the others waited impatiently to be pet. As Brock ran his fingers through the coarse wool, he looked at the barn. It was once bright red but it had faded in the Oklahoma sun. </p><p>Usually everyone banded together and went from farm to farm repainting between choring. It was during said painting that Brock had seen a brand close up. Clint had stripped off his sweat dampened tee and there, right over his heart, were raised pale lines. An elegant N looped in with an equally tasteful R, boarded with a diamond. It had stolen Brock’s breath, thinking of how badly it must have hurt. Clint had noticed his gawking and had puffed out his chest in pride.</p><p>It was the first time he’d actually addressed the topic he was avoiding. The conversation had been reassuring, at least for the moment, and his Alpha had just continued painting. She didn’t cut in or speak over him; it was Clint’s honest experience. Steve insisted that it sounded worse than it actually was, painwise. </p><p>But Steve had done freeze branding which was the least painful according to the online forums Brock had read through. He knew he was overreacting, that shying away from a bit of pain was silly when compared to how it would feel to have Jack’s claim engraved in his skin permanently. </p><p>Brock cut off the hose and reeled it back up. He could see Jack in the distance, tinkering with the John Deere tractor. He was determined to figure it out himself but Brock knew that as it got closer to harvest they would have to recruit Tony to the effort who, no doubt, would fix it in hours. </p><p>The afternoon came quickly, maybe too quickly if Brock was to be honest. Jack fixed them both a sandwich, the conversation hanging between them. </p><p>“I’m ready. And I want it done traditionally.”</p><p>Jack stilled, back to Brock reaching for condiments. “You’re sure?”</p><p>“Positive.” Brock was, even if it would hurt. He wanted to belong to Jack and to wear proof of it.</p><p>“Do you want to eat before or after?” Jack’s voice was low, a bit husky. The tenor of it sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. </p><p>“After.” Now it was within the immediate future Brock felt strangely antsy. </p><p>Jack nodded his head, eyes boring into him with an intensity Brock could only compare to when he went into a rut. Jack cradled his face however, startlingly gentle. </p><p>“I love you Brock, more than I could ever describe. There aren’t words for how I feel about you, about how I feel about you having my brand… How goddamn lucky I am to have found you…”</p><p>A flush crept across Brock’s face, emotion swelling in his chest. There was a lot he wanted to say, about how no, he was the lucky one; that Jack had changed his life drastically and made him a better, kinder person. But with his heart lodged in his throat all he could manage was, “I love you,” and he hoped that it conveyed.</p><p>The smile he got assured him that it had, and with a rough but sweet kiss, Jack started for the stairs. </p><p>Brock knew where he was going. He would reach the landing, where the photograph of Brock cramming a piece of cake in Jack’s mouth on their wedding day hung, then down the hallway adorned with photographs from various stages in their relationship. Brock’s first time at an apple orchard, proudly displaying the paper bag that would become the most delicious apple crisp of Brock’s life. Then Brock sitting up on The Count, a massive black shire horse that Jack loved dearly with a smile that just screamed terror and Jack holding the reins. (It was taken by Steve, the first time Brock met his friends. Of course Brock quickly learned that The Count was a gentle giant and now he had his own horse, a speedy, spunky paint horse Brock rightfully named Bello. Autumn evenings were best spent riding and visiting the surrounding farms.) Jack would then walk past their engagement photo; Brock remembered the smile he had because it was so wide it hurt but he was too happy to stop. Then he’d pass the upstairs bathroom door and the painting Steve had gifted them at the wedding of the farm which hung between it and the guest room, made up primarily for Brock’s Nonna. After came a line of photographs that came with the house: generations of Rollins, old and young with Jack at the end on a tractor, still baby faced waving sheepishly at the camera. </p><p>Then to their bedroom and the old dresser where Jack kept his Sunday best and event clothes. Brock knew that the branding box was kept there. He’s watched Jack put it away after their honeymoon. The actual gifting had been quite an event. Brock’s Nonna was a proud Italian woman and traditions varied greatly from country to country. Brock had feared she would call off his marriage and drag him back to Italy, she was so outraged by it. </p><p>Jack’s mother, a regular southern mama bear according to Jack, had defended the long honored tradition until they were both red in the face, shrieking over the gift table at each other. And Mrs, Rollins, despite being a beta, could hold her own against an Alpha. Regardless of the stress and insanity of trying to calm the two, it was a fond memory. Maybe it was the united front Jack and Brock formed or Brock’s certainty in their choices. </p><p>Brock fidgeted, hands going up to twist his collar. The smooth leather felt nice and his fingers explored the imprinted initials. His index finger traced the J, well worn by now because it had become a habit of Brock’s he couldn’t help. He heard the sound of Jack’s footsteps: past the generations of Rollins, past the painting, then the engagement picture, Brock mounted on The Count, the apple orchard, and the cake at their reception. </p><p>Brock drew in a deep, steadying breath. The long wooden box was monogrammed with ‘Jack &amp; Brock’. Jack held the box gingerly and the importance of what they were doing struck him. He felt focused, determined, a singular thought in mind as Jack set it down gently on the red and white checkered tablecloth. His eyes never broke contact with Brock however, searching him, looking for a waver in certainty that no longer existed. </p><p>“You’re sure you want traditional? I can run into the city and pick up some dry ice.” Jack reminded him softly.</p><p>Brock ignored the question, reaching for the box. His fingertips explored the fine grooves carved into the rich mahogany and then the smooth glossy finish. “I’m positive.”</p><p>Jack inclined his head, eyes glimmering in excitement and gratitude as if there had ever been a question about Brock’s devotion to their relationship. “I’m going to get the blowtorch. Do you know where you want it yet?”</p><p>Brock bobbed his head. He’d always known where he’d want such a mark ever since Jack explained the American customs. After they made love or even when they simply lay together, Jack always rubbed his thumb in lazy circles on his hip bones. When Jack finished sucking him off, he would kiss his hips tenderly. Brock had always been self conscious of them, thought they were a bit too wide for a male, omega or not. His Nonna always dismissed that, insisting he had good birthing hips but it didn’t really reassure him. But Jack’s adoration of them let him see them in a different light. It might have been silly but it meant something important to him.</p><p>Jack looked him up and down and smiled, shaking his head. “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”</p><p>A flush of embarrassment brushed across his cheeks and Brock waved him out. He stood there a moment, absorbing the moment and what was going to happen… And then he got down to business. The golden clasps were flipped and there, nestled in rich, black velvet was a branding kit. Brock pulled out the plastic box first. It had their name on it as well and inside had alcohol wipes, gloves, two masks, ointment and a special pad that would be worn over the brand to keep oxygen from reaching it and halting the scarification process. </p><p>With the items laid out innocently on the table a shudder of excitement crept through Brock. It felt a bit surreal as he opened the window over the sink and stove top (burnt skin would smell unpleasant after all). Jack came in, blowtorch in hand and Brock pulled off his shirt and then hooked his thumbs in his jeans, pooling them at his ankles. </p><p>Jack’s brows arched in surprise and confusion. </p><p>“I want it on my hip.” Brock pushed down his boxer briefs and Jack, thankfully ignored the startings of an erection. He didn’t know why he was aroused but suspected it was the intensity of what was happening and knowing that he would belong to Jack permanently. </p><p>Jack’s green eyes darkened and the scent of his arousal cut through the sweet omegan haze of nerves and arousal like a knife. It did nothing but heighten Brock’s own. Jack reached out, his calloused palm chafing the smooth olive skin. </p><p>“This one?” Jack’s voice was low, just above a growl.</p><p>Brock nodded, mouth a bit dry. Jack knelt down in front of him, setting the blowtorch on the table. With his breath quickening Brock looked down at Jack who was staring intently at the spot. </p><p>“Is...is that an okay spot?”</p><p>“Perfect,” Jack breathed and pressed his lip there in a chaste kiss, though the heat behind it was obvious. “It’s...perfect.”</p><p>Jack rose to his feet, after studying the spot with a look of determination. He slipped on the black gloves and they hardly fit his massive hands. He tore the foil in half and pulled out the alcohol wipe, kneeling and carefully sterilizing the area. Brock’s breathing was fast and uneven, the cold wipe sending goosebumps cascading down his legs and arms. </p><p>“Okay,” Jack murmured when he was satisfied with the cleaning. He set the wipe aside and stood, looking down at Brock intently. “Are you sure about this? About me? This can’t be undone.”</p><p>“I’m sure. Please Jack, I want to be yours.” </p><p>By some miracle his voice stayed steady and Jack smiled briefly before returning to his stern look of concentration. It was a big deal for him as well, an Alpha taking on a tremendous responsibility and devoting himself to the omega he branded. Brock was proud to be that omega, thankful even. </p><p>There was no better Alpha than Jack. </p><p>Jack’s long fingers teased the branding rod from its tight bed of velvet and he held it as though it was very fragile. There was a spot above the mantle in the den where a glass case stood empty, waiting for the branding iron to be hung. Jack turned it to study the engraving. It was tradition that the Alpha’s parents would select it but Brock wasn’t worried; Mrs. Rollins had exquisite taste. </p><p>“You’ll want something to hold onto,” Jack’s voice was steady and if Brock hadn’t known better he would have suspected he’d done one before.</p><p>It was tradition for an Alpha to tell their Alpha children at age fifteen about the branding of their omega, to explain the importance and what it meant so the tradition carried on. It wasn’t a story time taken lightly though, it was regarded as a transition to adulthood. Jack was likely reflecting on that time spent with his late father who, unfortunately, Brock had never gotten the chance to meet. It carried weight for both Alpha and omega and each was wrapped up in their own mental preparation. </p><p>Jack met Brock’s eyes who offered a short nod of confirmation. He put on his mask and Jack mirrored the action. Jack picked up the blowtorch and flicked it on. The roar of the fire licking the iron, already sterilized, was nearly deafening. Brock watched the fire flickering in Jack’s pine green eyes, anticipation causing his hands to tighten on the chair he has chosen to hold. Jack’s hand was, unfortunately, not an option.</p><p>The brand began to heat, glowing red and then slowly it bled to white as it reached the proper temperature. There was an art to this, layers of skin it needed to burn through without hitting fat or muscle. Brock wasn’t afraid of a botched brand though.</p><p>Brock trusted Jack.</p><p>When it was glowing a vibrant white Jack locked eyes with Brock briefly and then pressed the end to his skin. </p><p>It hurt. It hurt worse than the time Brock fell from an olive tree and broke a rib on the wheelbarrow. It hurt worse than his first knot in the backseat of a car. </p><p>Tears leapt to his eyes against will, dribbling shamelessly down his cheeks. He had a white knuckle grip on the top of the chair and that contact and knowing that he was doing this for Jack was all that kept him in place. His teeth ground together as he tried to swallow the scream bubbling in his throat. He was making a horrible keening sound however and that couldn’t be helped.</p><p>•• •• •• ••</p><p>Jack was layered focused; the hip wasn’t flat so he had to carefully roll the brand along the soft flesh, mindful of how deep the burn was going and making sure there wasn’t too much pressure in the center. </p><p>It needed to be perfect. </p><p>Just like his omega; just like his Brock.</p><p>•• •• •• ••</p><p>Brock felt the brand pulling away from his skin and the pain dulled down slightly from a ten to an eight and half. It was enough for him to get a grip and he was embarrassed about his tears. Jack was busy still, setting the branding rod aside with the hot end hanging off the table so not to damage the tablecloth or table. </p><p>Good, Brock would have been furious if he had left it there to ruin it. Nonna had brought it from the Rumlow Pizzeria in his hometown in Italy. </p><p>The ointment that was swiped over the skin hurt like bitch, spiking the pain back to a searing ten (or maybe even an eleven). Then, the cellophane was taped around it followed by a layer of surgical gauze. </p><p>Brock’s lungs were searing and he realized abruptly that he had held his breath. He released the air in a choked exhale of “Jack” that had his Alpha’s arms wrapping around him. Brock panted, his hip searing viciously, face pressed into his Alpha’s chest. </p><p>“You did it baby, you did so good.” Jack whispered, carefully removing his mask. It made breathing easier and the foggy feeling parted a bit. “Brock, fuck, you should see it — you should have been seen it… You’re mine sweetheart, I’ll protect you forever and always.”</p><p>Brock didn’t trust himself to speak, his entire body felt boneless and heavy but Jack lifted him with ease, still murmuring sweetly in his ear as they walked up the stairs and past the picture of Brock shoving cake in Jack’s mouth and then the orchard and The Count and the engagement photo and the painting and the Rollins and… </p><p>Jack set Brock down gingerly, making sure he wasn’t lying on the brand. Jack slipped into the bed behind him, running his fingers through Brock’s hair. His usually quiff had deflated between the chores and the branding. Jack was kissing his neck between the sweet nothings, running a comforting hand up and down his side.</p><p>Brock smiled through the tears because he had done it. They were one in every way possible and he was so, so happy. Evening had fallen by the time Brock felt up to talking. “What about the animals?”</p><p>“Our friends swung by. They knew what today was.”</p><p>Brock was thankful for the community around them as well. He couldn’t complain about getting extra time to be held by his Alpha. Jack led him to the en-suite bathroom and carefully cleaned the burn before putting new cellophane on it and more gauze. </p><p>After three days, Jack began to scrub the burn with sugar to irritate it. It was necessary, to keep the skin from healing over and to ensure it was scarred properly. After ten days of sugar scrubs, he could finally ditch the coverings and let it dry out and scab over. It was a bit unsightly though Jack still looked at it as if it was the most beautiful thing in the world. And, seeing as it was Jack’s claim, it was. </p><p>For over a month, Jack would rub his palm briskly over the brand and Brock found himself slapping it when he got out of the shower just to disturb the brand. The more you bothered it the better it turned out, according to Clint and Wanda, a very nice omega who worked at the general store on weekends. Brock was determined to do just that. </p><p>By Christmastime it was healed over and Jack spent Christmas Eve into the early hours of Christmas kissing the brand, tracing his tongue over the soft ridges and pale scar lines and the circle that boarded the JR. </p><p>From there it became a new normal, Jack resting his head near or on it, always touching it or near it. </p><p>Brock was glad he hadn’t let the fear take over because he had finally achieved his goal: he belonged to Jack, to his Alpha and soulmate, in both heart and body and Jack was his.</p>
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